Kaleidoscope
by alethea.1hazel1blue
Summary: Just a little songfic based off the song "Kaleidoscope" by blink-182. Finally finished with it, so this is the updated version. Soul has given up his music, seemingly for good, and Maka accidentally on purpose throws it in his face after a long day of Soul annoying her. How can she make it up to him? I recommend listening to the song. :)


Soul was driving her up a wall… again. Just the usual late-morning bickering, early afternoon complaining and to top off a perfect day, the after-dinner banter.

"All I'm saying is you could make a little more effort not to leave your girly crap strewn all over the damn sink, you'd think we didn't have cabinets under the sink the way you leave the bathroom after every eternity you spend in there." Maka slumped her shoulders and blew a hair away from her forehead. Trying to keep her cool was hard. She readjusted her eyes to the book in her hands and tried to bite back her tongue for the fiftieth time since having sat down in attempts to enjoy the rest of her evening in peace. Plans that had been shattered by a certain white-haired idiot that took it as an invitation to plop down next to her and whine in her ear about all the things she did wrong. All day he'd been adding his helpful little commentary to her daily life. She almost regretted asking him what her New Year's resolutions should be. That's the only reason he had saved himself from a million Maka-chops. That she had _willingly _asked for it. Of course, she hadn't anticipated _this_.

However, this was the last straw. She could be called a lot of things, but messy she was not; and especially coming from this stupid guy who left a trail of clothes as soon as they got through the front door after coming home from the academy on a daily basis. She shut the book gently, carefully, calculating the very twitch of her muscles. In a very polite and steady way she looked up at him and said,

"Play me a song." After a moment of furrowed white eyebrows, coy grins and the checking of body temperatures, Soul gathered himself and straightened his back, his extra inches made him seem about ten feet tall and unreachable, his demeanor changed and he looked like a cold and calculating business man, not to be trifled with. He looked like his father. He could've said a million things but said absolutely none, he understood the message. So he brooded out of the room and Maka smiled genuinely this time, content with the effect of her words. Sure, he'd jumped at the opportunity to tell her absolutely everything that was wrong with her, that was to be expected. He was Soul after all, no matter how many inches the years had given him, no matter how many timbres his voice had lowered and how attractive he'd become, he was practically the same Soul she'd met in all his glory. Sure he had pestered her all day, and had taken much joy in doing so, but she could have the same, maybe worse effect, that he had on her with just a simple phrase.

In his room, Soul was leaning against his dresser, palms pressed against the hardwood, eyes staring intently at his hands as if within them he could find the answers he'd been looking for. He gave out a big deflating sigh, without thinking he ran his hand through his hair and turned his gaze to the open window. She was so… ugh. He thought he was being funny, he knew he was being cute, but just like that she unraveled him and all his efforts to shake her up. She knew, better than anyone, that he was sensitive about certain subjects, like his family issues, for one. One did not simply speak of the Evans just like that, one did not ask how his brother was or if they could have his mother's recipe to that delicious apple pie. Those subjects made him wince and squirm and would win the asker an icy glare at best. But everyone knew, especially she, that his music was _off-firkin-limits_. He'd put it in a chest and shut it like a casket. After all the trouble he could cause with his melodies and the power knew he had with notes he decided to put his music on hold indefinitely. It hurt like hell, but he had disciplined himself away from pianos and keyboards. No one had heard him play in years. He'd loved it if he could go there again, a music room, just a grand piano and him for a whole day. He'd love to hear them resounding all around a room, the longing, the hope, the _love_. He'd love to get the notes out of his head, they'd been held captive there for too damn long. The music he'd written emotions that he'd bled in ink he'd give anything to have her hear it, to have her understand in a way words couldn't explain, to have her feel in a way he couldn't just show her with actions or shy touches. She had no idea that with her lighthearted tease she had broken the levies. This would not end here.

Maka was just a little worried. She knew what she'd done. She wasn't ignorant to the pain that giving up his music had caused him and she knew it was a dirty card to play. However Soul had been pounding on her ears all day with his words, as playfully intended as they might have been they held truth interlaced in between the jesting. She knew, deep down inside that her own insecurities still lingered there, under the confidence, under the years of overachieving and pushing herself way too hard. She still didn't feel worthy. She closed the thin paperback and let it fall on the empty spot where Soul had been hours before. It was a thin novel, loved to the last page, it was a wonder it hadn't fallen apart already. She knew almost every word by heart, and she just couldn't read anymore, her thoughts wandered with every word she'd read. She glanced back at the book and even the mere sight of it reminded her of him, it had been a gift from the idiot, a Christmas present long ago. How typical, that she should be given books, that's just how one dimensional everyone thought she was.

She couldn't lie to herself, she was hurt. Try as she might she had already built up an image for herself that branded her for life. She just couldn't get away from it. It was the shadow she cast when she walked. No one would believe she had other interests outside the obvious. If she ever tried anything new they would all dismiss it as a phase an innocent girl was going through. Soul didn't know how much she could sympathize with him. How much she connected with his dark melodies, his piercing crescendos and heart-throbbing harmonies; he didn't know exactly how much it affected her to know she might never hear another one of his pieces again. He was so damn selfish. So friken egocentric, thinking that quitting his music would only affect him and that no one else would give a fuck. Well. That just shows how little he knew; about her thoughts, her _feelings_, about her.

She was broken out of her reverie by loud screeching sound. Dammit Soul was mad.

Maka hated fighting. Death knows she'd seen enough of it to last her a lifetime between her parents and her day to day training at the academy she certainly didn't need it at home. Sure, she and Soul bickered like an old married couple but very rarely did it escalate to serious proportions nowadays. They'd learned their boundaries, their flexibilities and their faults, and they knew when to stop…most of the time. That's not to say they didn't step on each other's toes every once in a while. It did happen, like now. The late afternoon bled into night and the hours seemed endless as Maka tried to occupy her time and mind with something other than Soul, who had locked himself in his room ever since the finality of their conversation. She cleaned up the kitchen, the bathroom and the living room and when there was nothing left to clean she found solace in staring up at the ceiling idly. Trying to rack her mind for solutions, for ways she could possibly make it alright. It wasn't going to be easy. She had no idea what could make up for her deadly slip of the tongue. Her legs were dangling off the couch's arm rest and her back was starting to hurt from the terrible springs that were digging into it but she just couldn't find the strength to readjust her position or get up. She probably deserved the pain she'd get in the morning if she fell asleep there, she thought as she started to drift off, in her mild stage of consciousness and unconsciousness she thought she felt a tear creep slowly off the edge of her eye.

Soul was a little pissed off when she didn't immediately come knocking on his door after a little bit of 'cool-off' time. They had this silent agreement that they'd give each other time to cool off, usually around 15 minutes, before either would try to makeup. He figured the cool off period would be a lot longer this time because she really had been cruel. It boiled his blood and left him with a cold feeling in his stomach all at once. He pushed his dresser hard, as if it had been to blame for everything that had gone wrong, the dresser screeched in protest. Now there was nothing he could do but wait until she came crawling back to him. So he waited, thinking, feeling. The night was chilly and the curtains fluttered with the cool air around his open window. He could jump, he mused. He wasn't suicidal by far, but he wondered sometimes… How would she react? Who would even care? How would it affect their lives? How would it feel like… to die, to cease existing, to be forgotten in the universe, to be a smidge in the book of time, like if he hadn't been intended to write anything, to make a statement. These feelings, those thoughts that plagued him begged, and he complied. Searching around for a minute he found the blank music sheets and his preferred ink blotter and fountain pen, a gift from his estranged father, and got to work. She'd hear this; he decided as he filled in a quarter note, she needed to. He imagined the notes, each tone floating around in the gelid atmosphere, he closed his eyes so he could concentrate on each, to place them in the perfect place, he opened his eyes again and wrote, the night came and left him where he was, listening to his soul.

She'd had an awful dream that night filled with screeching noises and being trapped in couch springs, but it didn't matter. None of it did because the sun was making her eyelids a translucent red and she could no longer pretend she wasn't awake. Sure enough, her back ached something awful and she was sure she looked as bad as she felt. There was something decisively salty and dry on her face, she didn't even have to question, and she knew what it was already. She'd cried in her sleep before. Maka rolled off the couch and her limbs, still lanky and awkward flung into action before her mind could register her falling. She scrambled to her feet and for the first time noticed the smell that lingered in the air as she yawned and stretched. Was it bacon? Or warm maple syrup? Or coffee? It seemed to be all of the above mixed into a wonderful melody of scents. Was Blair visiting? She must be, it had to be about ten and she knew Soul wouldn't awake before noon on a Saturday morning, especially not after a night-long cool off time. Concluding it was Blair, she made no effort to fix up her crumpled appearance and zombie-walked into the kitchen.

Her uniform was so badly wrinkled it might as well have been made of paper, her pigtails were in two different places and her sleepy eyes gave away to the night she'd had. She was stumbling around and wiping her mouth as she looked up to who she could thank for the delicious smelling-breakfast.

He didn't know if his expression did his thoughts justice. A string of words fumbled across his brain, _wow-holy-damn-shower_, but they all registered in his consciousness as _blank_. He must have been gaping like a fish with that weird side sneer he used to make whenever Blair would present herself in all her nakedness before him. He didn't know why he was turned on, but he was. However, quick to be cool about anything, even while in an apron, holding a spatula, he changed his expression to cool indifference. He glanced back at his bacon and when he looked back she was observing the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the room. She was twirling a pigtail like her life depended on it. Her mouth let out a soft 'Oh' like everything made sense now.

She was about to flee, he could tell. Before she could, he stopped her with a gruff,

"This one's yours." placing the breakfast plate down on the table with a little more force than was necessary. She looked at the plate like it was full of poisonous snakes and she was contemplating letting one bite her. Finally, she gave in and plopped down on the chair. Soul, too finished with the bacon, tossed it on his plate and sat down across from her without another word. Suddenly, the table felt too small and he felt like a stranger in a foreign house. She ate like she did whenever she was at a formal dinner with people she wasn't really comfortable with; but every time he caught her eye she would scream at him with her gaze, scream, cry, and beg. He wanted to reach out for her hand, it was so close he swore he could feel the warmth it radiated, but every time he was about to she would avert her gaze and he would feel inadequate for thinking such things. The unsaid things hung in the atmosphere and made the air even colder than the chill coming in from the open windows all around the apartment. He finished too quickly and now didn't have an excuse to stare at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking.

Maka was stalling, taking small bites out of the meal and prolonging each of one so she could stay at the table longer, so she could be in his presence longer, before he lurked back into the depths of his room where she really wouldn't be a guest of honor at the moment, but he finished first. He turned around and placed the dirty dish in the sink and began washing it, a rare occasion. His shoulders were drooping and she could see his back bones jutting out from underneath his blue long-sleeve shirt. She took a psychology class once, just for fun, and had become an expert at reading body language. Soul's was not very open or friendly. He shouldn't be taking that long to wash one dish. Maybe he wanted to say something too, something, anything to tear away at the awful silence.

"Soul," she whispered,

"Maka," he breathed at the same time. He dropped the dish he was holding and it would've shattered if it had been made out of glass, but he remained facing the wall, its tiled backsplash was being studied by the crimson eyes that were bloodshot and full of unshed tears. The faucet continued to run and he made no efforts to turn it off, she stayed quiet for a long time that he began to think he'd imagined the whisper, confused the sound of rushing water for her wispy voice saying his name. But then she spoke again.

"Soul, I- We- I'm" she stuttered like she did when she had so many things to say and they all wanted to come rushing out at once, like the water in the spout. Full of white noise. He began to cautiously turn around and caught a glimpse of her face and the emotions splashed across.

"Fuck this." he said gently, like it was the last thing he'd ever say, the most tender words he longed for her to hear. He ripped off the apron and without a second thought dragged her from her frozen place, soon, he was pulling her out the door. "You're coming with me." he said without further explanation. Usually, Maka would mutter, usually she'd demand to know where he was taking her and on what rights did he have to man-handle her like that. But this wasn't usual. She wasn't going to dig her heels or pout; she'd just go along for the ride, wherever the ride would go.

The cold January wind was slapping her face and she was holding on to Soul's waist for dear life, there was nothing like a good old motorcycle ride to wake a girl up in the morning. The sun would've been blinding but the clouds were shielding the golden rays away from the rest of the world. The last of the rubber bands that had been holding her hair in the uneven pigtails just snapped and her ashy blonde hair now flowed free from its restraints. She felt exhilaration building inside her chest despite the feelings that still lingered from the previous night. This was a new day and she felt anything was possible. She really didn't care where he was taking her, at least he willing to let her be close to him. She lost track of how many corners they'd turn before they arrived to a part of Death City she hadn't frequented. It was all old streets made of cobblestones and buildings that had to be straight out of the black and white pages of a history book. She racked her brain trying to think back on every history book she'd read on Death City and very briefly remembered the mention of this part of town, this had been the elite part of town back in the pre-revolutionary era. It had baffled her to learn how old a town this far West was; it had been the most select people's reprieve from the conflicts with England. The very English architecture and city design gave away the town's founding residents had been Loyalists. So lost in the old-time feel of the ambient she was surprised when she found that Soul had decelerated into a stop in front of the single French style building in the whole block.

The building had to be about three stories high with long white windows in the middle that revealed a large room past the curtains that hadn't been touched in half a century. The door was an unsightly wooden door that was wide enough to drive a small hybrid car through. There were no windows in the first floor so Maka imagined whatever lay past the front portal must be very cave-like. Soul noticed the wonder in her eyes, ever curious mouth slightly parted as she craned her neck to look at every detail of the structure before her. She slowly got off the motorcycle without ungluing her eyes as Soul fumbled in his pocket to find the rusty key.

"Soul…" she began with curiosity interlaced in her voice.

"Just one of my family's many forgotten corners of the world. My father gave me the key and title to it a few years back and I didn't bother coming to check it out until a few months ago. At first I was confused as to why he would think I would ever want such a… _thing, _but then I went inside." All the time he was talking he was unlocking the door, and then as he finished, he yanked the door open and the sight of the room before Maka's eyes made her head spin with pure elation.

"_Soul, _it's…" but somehow no word seemed adequate enough to be fitting of the sight in front of her. It was more than beautiful, it was dark and elegant, and looked so much like the music room inside of her and Soul's heads. Only it was different, purer, there was no imp and the grand piano in this room was truly grand. It reeked something expensive that she didn't even want to breathe on it in fear of even putting a bit of moisture on it. She stepped into the red and black tile cautiously and Soul locked the door behind him, turning on the lights of the chandelier at the same time. If the room could ever look more enchanting it was because of those lights. The soft glow coming from the ceiling gave everything a surreal look. Maka finally finished taking in everything and turned to look at Soul. He was palming a stack of extremely wrinkled papers and Maka caught herself gasping… was he going to..? After last night? The whole thing was almost too much.

"Maka, take a seat." He said, grinning. "I believe there's something you wanted me to do for you." 

When Maka didn't react right away Soul took charge and pushed her into the antique chair close to the piano where he could see her face directly as he played. Out of his jacket he produced a folded mess of paper which he proceeded to shake out and straighten with care. Maka leaned forward to see what was written on it, but she already knew without looking, they were handwritten scores of music. Her heart palpitated and goose bumps mushroomed across her skin in anticipation.

Soul pulled out the sleek black piano bench with the grace of a professional concert pianist, years of lessons ingrained in him urged him subconsciously to do so. He straightened his back and placed the music sheets on the stand. They were there more for comfort than because he really needed them. He could play the whole song with his eyes closed. As his fingers touched the first chord the whole room nearly shook with the power therein. It was the climax; it was the pinnacle, years and years in the making. All for her.

Maka couldn't tell you what that first chord was, or the next ones, or the rest of the song; she didn't know a thing about music. She had tried to study and read and _comprehend_. But Soul's music was different, it was not something to be understood or studied or made sense of; she knew in that first chord it was for her. All the mess, the wild crescendos, and the high notes and the downward spirals, all the beauty and darkness and hope, all that was Soul, it was for her. He played with his eyes on her the whole time. He played and his face was as sincere as if he was telling her all the things he longed for her most to hear. And in that final chord he pounded the keys as if his soul in that one chord he did outpour.

The final note of hope and sorrow resounding, fading finally died and Maka's eyes finally spilled the tears she'd shed in her sleep. The tears of joy or angst or love, she didn't know. But finally it had come to an end. Their guessing game, that awfully long roller coaster, it was over. Maka wasted no time in slipping into Soul's arms and burying her face in there, in the crook of his neck, in the soft and dark places of Soul, she sobbed. Soul held her tightly without pretense of coolness or restrain. She was so small and delicate, something precious that needed protection. His meister, his Maka, he stroked her hair and thanked Heaven that she'd understood.

Maka finally quieted down and looked at Soul, if words had been necessary, words would've been used in the first place. She saw in Soul what she's seen in him all those years ago, this time without the disguise. Just Soul, a cool guy who didn't need to try to be cool, his loyalty and caring instincts that ran deeply rooted within his being. Just Soul who she could fight with and for, her weapon of choice. If the song he'd played had been his way of showing her his love, she had a more conventional way of doing so.

Soul wasn't exactly surprised by the kiss, in fact, he'd written into his agenda for the day late last night when he was not sleeping. What did surprise him was that Maka was the one who initiated it, and like everything she did, she was extremely good at it.


End file.
